


Need a Little Christmas Now

by MDJensen



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Family Feels, Gen, Steve needs people to look out for him, belated Christmas celebrations, luckily he's got plenty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-08 02:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17377820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: In which the Williamses leave up their tree until Uncle Steve comes home. Post 9x11.





	1. Chapter 1

_“For I've grown a little leaner, grown a little colder/ Grown a little sadder, grown a little older  
And I need a little angel sitting on my shoulder/ Need a little Christmas now”_

*

Danny comes back to Montana with him. It’s not a surprise. It’s also not a surprise that, while there, he won’t leave Steve alone.

Steve knows what Danny’s waiting for. He’s waiting for the breakdown.

More specifically, he’s waiting for what will hopefully come after: the return of his Steve McGarrett. The putting-away of the Steve McGarrett who can torture, who can kill for revenge.

They are not different souls. They are different faces, though; different minds. Aspects of a two-headed god, or monster.

This Steve likes the other Steve better, too.

But four more days in Montana changes nothing.

Returning to Hawaii changes nothing either. He knows Danny’s hoping that it will snap him back somehow; he’s hoping too.

But it doesn’t.

He goes to work. He accepts hugs from Lou and Jerry and Adam and Tani. He declines to take a few more days off.

In the mornings and evenings he swims for hours on end. At night he sleeps in Joe’s coat, though it makes him sweat.

Lou invites him for dinner. He declines. He has his movie night with Jerry, because Jerry is incapable of thinking badly of him no matter what state he’s in. This is naïve, but at the moment it’s useful.

He sees Danny at work, but declines all his requests for out-of-work activities.

Surprisingly, Danny lasts over a week before he snaps.

It’s late afternoon. Danny stalks into Steve’s office and slaps the desk. “I would like to take my Christmas tree down, now, thank you.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve been over this. I’m not allowed to take my tree down until we’ve had Christmas with Uncle Steve, and it is going on mid-January, so I would really like to!”

Steve says nothing.

“It’s Friday,” Danny adds. His tone is more wheedling than a moment ago. “Listen, I know you’re—I know you’re still dealing. I know that. But can you please come eat one Christmas cookie and watch one Christmas special? It would actually, literally mean to world to them, man.”

Speaking takes more effort than benching a hundred pounds. “Not tonight, Danny.”

“Then when? What are you waiting for?”

He doesn’t let himself sigh. “I’m not their uncle right now. No, look me in the eye and tell me that I am.”

Danny looks him in the eye. “Yes, you’re their uncle, you _idiot_. Family isn’t a person. It’s something _between_ people. You’re their uncle and they want to have Christmas with you!”

He softens. Sits on Steve’s desk. “You don’t feel like yourself right now, babe. I know that. I see that. But that doesn’t change who you are to us. Please come for dinner? You don’t gotta stay long.”

Steve’s stomach hurts. He’s only now realizing, but he suspects that it’s been hurting for a while. “I didn’t get any presents,” he admits.

“I figured. You always say you’re gonna start early and you never do.”

“Last year I shopped on the twenty-third.”

“Hey,” Danny murmurs. He taps his foot against Steve’s knee, which somehow feels like the first kind touch he’s received in months, though it isn’t. “They don’t care. I mean it. Steve, they just wanna see their uncle. C’mon, babe, they’re not with me next weekend.”

He lets himself sigh now. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“I said yes.”

The way Danny looks at him, Steve can tell he’s spoken sharply. He didn’t mean to. It’s a good example of why he doesn’t want to be around Charlie and Grace right now.

“I’m not promising to stay the whole night.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Danny replies, with a crooked smile. “But honestly, babe, it might help.”

It’s nice that Danny thinks that, but Steve knows it won’t.

“Be over by seven,” Danny says. It’s half past five, now.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs. And Danny leaves.

Steve goes home. He walks Eddie. He showers and puts on a slightly nicer shirt than usual; then he takes it off and puts on a t-shirt.

Then he almost backs out. It’s frighteningly close. But he doesn’t, and at a quarter to seven he’s pulling into Danny’s driveway.

He’s planning to take the walk to the door to collect himself. But he doesn’t have a chance; the door bangs open and out spills Charlie, wearing Rudolph pajamas, smiling hugely.

“Uncle Steve!” he screeches, beelining for Steve’s side. He pauses for a moment, expecting to be picked up, but he brushes it off when he’s not. “Hurry! We’re so late—we have to make cookies and make gingerbread houses and we have to watch a movie!”

Charlie’s hand feels painfully small in Steve’s own, as the boy tugs him up the path and over the threshold.

Steve freezes.

“We left the tree up!” Charlie announces, gleefully. Which is true, but which isn’t all. They’ve left everything up: the stockings, the knickknacks, even the wintery plaid blanket on the sofa.

All for him.

“Lucky it’s a fake tree,” Danny adds, coming out from the kitchen, hugging Steve loosely. “Thanks for coming, babe.”

Then Grace appears. Like Danny, she’s dressed normally, though with a pair of oversized elf-shoe slippers on her feet. “Hey, Uncle Steve,” she murmurs, giving him the same easy hug that her father did. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Gracie.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” she adds, as she pulls away, and suddenly Steve wants another hug, a real bear hug, so badly that it aches.

“Uncle Steve?” Charlie’s tugging his hand again. “Why did you miss regular Christmas?”

Steve and Danny both start to answer, but it’s Grace who gets there first. “You remember what Danno told us, little man. Uncle Steve had to do some work on the mainland.”

“But he missed Christmas _and_ next year’s!”

Steve’s stomach is hurting again. “Buddy, I won’t miss next year’s.”

“No! You missed next year’s!”

But Grace smiles and swoops in, lifting her brother onto her hip. “He means New Year’s,” she explains. Her voice is a little softer than usual.

“Does he know? That it’s next year?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, booger; Uncle Steve knows it’s 2019. Promise.”

Charlie thinks on this a moment, then jolts in Grace’s arms, towards Steve. Grace passes him over.

The weight of him frightens Steve more than it probably should. But Charlie himself doesn’t notice, just burrows closer. Steve looks to Danny and finds him smiling, kind of sadly.

“Just took the lasagna out,” he says, nodding towards the kitchen.

At the table, Charlie deigns to be put down, though he pulls his chair within inches of Steve’s. Then he sits, kicking his legs, as Grace sets the table. Danny brings the lasagna and a bottle of red wine, pouring glasses for himself and Steve. Then he doles out big, cheesy slices onto everyone’s plates.

Charlie all but attacks his, fork clacking against the plate. He shovels a quarter of his serving down before he pauses, and looks around the table, grinning. “I love late Christmas!”

Danny swallows his mouthful of wine. “Is that what we’re calling this?”

“Well, it’s late!”

Danny does that saddish smile again. “What about extra Christmas? Or second Christmas?”

Charlie frowns. “Little Christmas?”

“Little Christmas is a real thing, booger,” Grace replies. “It passed already, too.”

Then Danny shoots her a look, and Steve actually watches the gears turn behind her eyes. “But we can have little Little Christmas!” she adds. “Double Little Christmas.”

“Tiny, _tiny_ Christmas!” Charlie hollers. “So so so little!”

“Tiny Christmas,” Danny says, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Yeah?”

Steve doesn’t really care what’s it’s called, to be honest; just nods his assent and pours himself more wine.

After dinner, Danny shoos them from the kitchen. Charlie pouts, but Danny promises to call them back when it’s time to make shape cookies. “I just wanna get the other ones done myself, so we have more time for the shape ones, buddy. Okay? Thank you.”

It’s clear that Danny just wants his jelly thumbprints and peanut butter blossoms to be actual circles, which is almost—almost—enough to make Steve smile.

“C’mon, Charlie,” Grace urges, tapping her brother’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show Uncle Steve how you can read your new book? It’ll be time for shape cookies soon.”

Charlie pounces on this, as he has on all Steve-centric activities the whole night; he forces Steve onto the couch, then climbs into his lap with a big, colorful book.

As with any first grader reading, it’s—laborious. In a better mood Steve knows he’d love every second, but tonight he doesn’t, and the fact that he can’t make himself love it brings his mood even lower. He tries to distract himself, petting Charlie’s head like he would Eddie’s. But soon the tiny ember of okayness he’s been trying to fan all night just goes out, goes black, and refuses to catch again.

“Hey, buddy, I need to get up for a second.”

Absurd that the weight of a six-year-old is starting to make him feel genuinely pinned—but it is. He can feel his pulse picking up.

“Only a few more pages!”

Steve takes a deep breath, tries to manage; can’t.

“Charlie, you really need to let me up, buddy.”

He’s grateful that he only got down a few bites of lasagna; any more, and it would be coming back up right now. As it is, that’s still a possibility.

“Charlie,” Steve says, “let me up.”

Charlie doesn’t.

Steve picks him up and puts him on the empty seat beside them, where Charlie promptly bursts into tears.

Steve flees.

In the backyard he collapses onto the bench and sits, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His pulse beats rapidly in his ears. He’s shaking, quite literally head to toe, and he wonders if this is about to become an actual panic attack. He hasn’t had one in a while. But that’s how abjectly awful he feels: too weak to move but so frantic he can barely keep from screaming.

Time passes.

The could-be panic attack drains from him without ever fully manifesting; he’s back in control, now, but more exhausted than ever. He just wants to go home. But if home’s not here, with Danny and the kids, then where the hell is it?

Eventually the silence is broken by footsteps.

They pause, like Danny’s stopped a few feet back to assess the situation; then they begin again, and Steve realizes that they’re too soft to be Danny’s.

“Hey, Gracie.”

His voice comes out a croak, and Grace smiles patiently as she settles beside him. “Hey, Uncle Steve.”

“Is Charlie okay?”

“Totally fine. He just got wound up.”

“He calmed down?”

“After like, ten seconds. For real.”

Steve nods, finally breathing a little easier.

Grace puts a hand on his arm. “Do you want me to leave you alone? It’s totally fine if that’d be better. We just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

The sincerity in her words just fucking obliterates him.

“I’d love for you to stay, Gracie,” he gets out, barely a whisper.

Grace takes her hand away, lays her head on Steve’s shoulder instead.

And that’s it. That’s the moment he can’t hold it back any longer. Steve screws his eyes shut, hugs Grace closer, and cries; it’s silent, but Grace must know, because she takes his hand and holds it tightly.

They sit for a while, watching the sun set.

Eventually he hears Danny’s footsteps, feels a hand brush through his hair. “Monkey?” Danny says, quietly. “Go watch your brother, please. And take the cookies out when the timer goes off.”

“’kay, Danno,” Grace replies. She squeezes Steve’s hand and kisses his cheek before she goes; this brings a fresh wave of tears, just in time for Danny to settle in her abandoned seat and hook his arm through Steve’s.

“I ruined Tiny Christmas,” Steve whispers, then laughs a little because that’s the least manly thing he’s ever said.

Then cries more, because it’s still true.

“Hey, hey. Stop. Nothing is ruined. Can you—will you—? Aw, babe,” Danny murmurs, as Steve feels his face crumple again. “C’mere. Come here. I gotcha.”

With his head on Danny’s shoulder, sniffles quickly turn to real sobs. Steve huddles closer and lets all the shit he’s kept in for six weeks now just sort of _gush_.

He doesn’t regret it, avenging Joe. Doesn’t regret any of what he had to do to make it happen, even if maybe he should. Doesn’t regret the version of himself that he had to become.

Doesn’t regret it, but oh, god it hurt. It fucking _hurt_ , being that Steve McGarrett, and it hurts, now, coming back from him too. It hurts. And every time he surfaces at all from that pain, the other pain is there, reminding him that Joe’s gone.

Between them both it’s a miracle he ever stops crying. But he does, eventually, then sits and stares at the light-polluted night sky while Danny goes back inside and returns with tissues and a hand towel. Steve blows his runny-stuffy nose a few times. Then he holds the warm, dampened towel against his eyes and sits, Danny’s arm around his waist, pulling breath after breath of Hawaiian air.

They stay that way for some time. Then eventually Danny shifts and sighs, and scratches at Steve’s back. “You ready to go inside? It’s all right if you’re not.”

“No, I am.” Steve pulls the towel from his eyes, then lets Danny take it from his hand. Before him the world swims back to itself.

Danny hovers at his side like he’s afraid of Steve falling; usually he’d find that annoying, but not tonight. They go back to the living room, where Grace and Charlie are playing with cars.

At the sound of their entrance, Charlie looks up, then climbs cautiously to his feet.

“Are you okay, Uncle Steve?” he asks, his little voice somber, sincere.

“I’m okay, buddy.”

“Were you crying?”

“Yeah, a little bit. It’s okay.”

“You’re so sad?”

There’s nothing to do but tell the truth. “I’m really sad, Charlie.”

“Why?”

“My friend died. My friend Joe.”

“Wow,” Charlie whispers. Then he pauses, but only for a moment, before coming over to Steve’s side and looking up expectantly. Steve scoops him up, holds him close. Charlie wraps his warm little arms around Steve’s neck, and though he shouldn’t have any tears left, more tears come. He sniffles. Closes his eyes and begins to rock in a gentle rhythm, trying to soothe himself just as much as he’s trying to soothe Charlie.

Steady hands touch his back. Danny doesn’t take Charlie from him, just leads him to the couch and helps him sit; this done, he wraps his arms around Steve and Charlie both. A moment later Steve feels Grace mirror this action on his other side.

They stay this way a while. Long enough for the hug to soften and shift, until Steve’s leaning into Danny’s side, Grace leaning into Steve’s, Charlie sprawled comfortably over Steve’s and Danny’s laps. The tears trickle gradually to a stop. And Steve just lets himself melt into it, into the arms of his family, into the comfy couch with its Christmas blanket and the smell of cookies warm in the air.

He lets his eyes close, though at first he doesn’t sleep. He’s aware of Grace getting up eventually, bringing the cookies in; he’s aware of Charlie finally crawling out of his lap to get one. He’s aware of them bickering cheerfully over movie choices—though he can only muster a grunt when asked for his opinion.

But he must sleep, for a least a little while. Because finally he peels his sticky eyes open, and finds a few unexpected things: first of all that he’s lying inarguably in Danny’s lap, and second that Eddie’s on the floor between the kids, getting double belly rubs.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Danny murmurs, letting him shift a bit.

“Eddie’s here?”

“Yeah, he called an Uber. No, jeez, wake up, will you? Your dog didn’t call an Uber, Steven; I had Junior bring him. Kinda figured you were gonna stay the night, but I know—you know. I know you’ve missed him.”

“I really missed him,” Steve whispers, putting his head back down; he wants to call Eddie over but Eddie’s too happy to make him move right now. Steve can see him, and that’s fine.

Rough fingers brush over his hair. “You warm enough?”

He is, despite the air conditioning; a glance downwards reveals that he’s wrapped in the fuzzy plaid blanket. He wonders idly if Junior saw him like this, but doesn’t really care. “Yeah. ‘m warm. What’re we watchin’?”

“Don’t you recognize the cinematic splendor of _The Santa Clause_ when you see it?”

And yeah, now he recognizes Tim Allen; from what he remembers of the movie, it’s almost over. Steve sits up to watch better. Still he keeps the blanket around himself, and stays pressed up against Danny’s side.

When the movie ends, Charlie turns to Steve and Danny, yawning a little. “Is it time for shape cookies now?”

“It’s time for _bed_ now,” Danny replies easily. “No, hey, don’t give me that look. I said we had time for a movie or cookies. You chose the movie.”

“Because Uncle Steve was on the couch,” Charlie grumbles, visibly tired and starting to pout a little. Steve manages a laugh.

“Okay, listen, little man. Uncle Steve’s gonna sleep over here tonight, so we’ll do shape cookies tomorrow. Okay?”

“’kay.”

“We’ll say that this was Tiny Christmas Eve. So tomorrow is Tiny Christmas Day.”

“Okay. Gingerbread houses, too?”

“Yup.”

“And Uncle Steve needs to open his stocking!” Charlie adds. Steve looks to his stocking, hanging beside the others on the mantle, and realizes that indeed it is cheerfully distended (probably with peppermint patties and expensive jerky, because Danny knows him well).

“And Uncle Steve will open his stocking. We’ll do all of it, okay? Maybe your sister will even make her French toast thing.”

“French toast casserole?” Grace says, turning to face them as well. “Jeez, Danno, how many carbs do you want?”

“How many carbs—listen to me, offspring, I want all the carbs. Every carb. Without the distain, thanks. It’s Christmas.”

Grace rolls her eyes, but smiles too.

“That’s what I thought. Can you wrap those cookies up, please? Charlie, can you help her?”

“Can I feed Eddie a cookie?” Charlie asks, as he and Grace get to their feet.

“Yeah, but only one. Give him one of the peanut butter ones without chocolate, okay?”

“Okay!” Charlie replies, going into the kitchen with Grace and Eddie beside him.

Alone now, Danny turns to Steve and scans him openly. “How you feelin’?”

“Feel like crap,” Steve admits. “But I feel like, um. Myself. So that’s a step.”

“That’s a big step, babe,” Danny agrees, nudging Steve’s arm with his fist. They sit in silence for a minute or two. Then Danny shifts.

“I’m gonna make sure they’re not eating all the cookies. You wanna take your turn in the bathroom? Then you can help me tuck Charlie in.”

Steve nods, glad it’s almost bedtime; he’s not sure how much longer he could keep his eyes open. Even now, as he looks around the room, it’s hazy. The lights on the tree bloom with little haloes that blur with the silver ornaments and the shiny red bows.

“What? What’s the goofy look for?”

“Nothing,” Steve breathes, glad when his voice comes out smoothly. “Just. You realize you—you left the lights on for me?”

“Huh?”

“The Christmas lights. You literally left the lights on for me.”

“Oh, brother,” Danny groans—though the next thing he does is crane up and kiss Steve’s forehead, which is frankly no less sentimental. “Go brush your teeth. We’ll be up in a second.”

“Okay. Merry Christmas, Danno.”

“Merry Christmas, Steven,” Danny replies. And just like his daughter he rolls his eyes, smiling all the while.


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie goes to bed without a fuss, appeased by the notion of more Christmas in the morning. Steve, Danny, and Grace all kiss him goodnight and leave him to sleep. In the hallway, Grace hugs Danny, then Steve—and yes, it’s a proper bear hug this time. Then she goes to bed as well.

Danny doesn’t have a guest room, now that Charlie’s around, so Steve usually crashes on the couch. (They’ve bunked together, but it’s not the default because of boundaries and stuff; plus Danny’s snoring is getting worse as he gets older, and Steve is, _supposedly_ , a bit of a bed hog.)

But there’s not even a discussion tonight. Once Grace’s door closes, Steve follows Danny to his bed and crawls in; Danny shuts off the lights and curls up right next to him. Eddie snuffles as he gets comfortable on the floor. And Steve lies there, feeling tenuously balanced between gratitude and grief.

He finds himself wishing for Joe’s coat. He hasn’t slept a night without it in over a month, and tonight, just like back in Montana, he’s chilly enough to want it for warmth as well. But he breathes deep, buries himself in blankets. Curls towards Danny and lays a hand on his arm, not really holding on, just feeling him there.

It’s enough. Soon he’s warm again, and the comfort of this combined with the steady sense of Danny’s presence quickly pulls him back under.

*

He sleeps late, and wakes groggy. Danny’s cross-legged beside him, drinking coffee, wet-haired and smelling of shaving cream.

Steve rubs gunk from his eyes. “Where’s Eddie?”

“Grace took him for a walk. You sleep okay?”

He nods. _Okay_ is definitely the word for it: not horrible, not great. He woke only once or twice, and only briefly. But there’s also the lingering feeling of having dreamt darkly, though he can’t remember anything for sure.

He pulls himself upright.

Part of him had honestly expected to feel better, after yesterday. But that’s ridiculous. Grief can’t be _fixed_ , and if anything he’s more exposed now, with that other Steve no longer shielding him from the worst of it.

The next few days are going to be rough ones.

“Should still be pretty hot.” Danny’s voice draws Steve back, and he lifts his head and peers at Danny. He doesn’t feel up to replying. But he has enough left inside to reach out and take the coffee, and smile at Danny for making it.

They sit in comfortable silence until they’ve both finished. Around the same time, Steve hears the front door open and shut, along with Eddie’s soft happy-bark and Charlie’s high-pitched greeting.

Danny’s hand rests warmly on his elbow. “You wanna stay up here ‘til breakfast is ready?”

He does, honestly; much as he did sleep better at Danny’s side, he could use a moment alone. But Steve makes himself shake his head. It’s Christmas, after all, which means he’s already slept in a lot later than he should.

It’s the right decision. The sight of Grace and Charlie’s (and Eddie’s) faces seems to reach him in a way that it didn’t yesterday, and Steve finds himself truly smiling for the first time in—well. A while.

Despite protests, Grace has made her French toast casserole. The smell of butter and cinnamon permeates the kitchen, and with only a few minutes left on the timer, Steve occupies himself with helping Charlie set out plates and silverware. Danny makes more coffee, scowling when Grace pours herself some. Then everybody settles around the table, all but Grace in pajamas, Eddie at Steve’s feet, and it all just feels so cozy and safe that it’s nearly hypnotizing.

Soon the oven goes off, and Grace presents her creation. Steve shovels down a heap of French toast casserole, followed by a heap of Christmas cookies; half an hour later, of course, he’s curled up on the couch with a stomachache. But it doesn’t really bother him. Today’s _oof I ate too much_ pain is very different from yesterday’s _my heart hurts so badly it’s spilling over to my other organs_ pain, and he’s content to just laze on the couch until he digests a bit.

Charlie keeps him company. Makes a nest for himself in the empty space between Steve’s bent legs and the back of the couch, and reads Steve the book they didn’t finish last night. It means the world, being given a second chance like that. Charlie probably doesn’t even see it in those terms, but for him to have forgiven Steve for upsetting him last night? Yeah, it feels pretty good.

When the book’s over, Charlie shuts it with satisfaction, then peers up with a smile. “Do you still have a bellyache, Uncle Steve?”

“A little bit, buddy, but not so bad.”

“So, um.” Charlie’s eyes flash. “Are you ready?”

“Am I ready for what?”

“Presents!”

Steve’s heart sinks, though he fights not to let it show. Yesterday he felt bad and a little embarrassed about not having gifts for the kids; today he feels absolutely terrible.

“Charlie, your presents from me—”

“I know,” Charlie says, with a grown-up sigh that nearly breaks Steve heart. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“’cause it woulda been more polite if we waited for you to be here. But Danno gave us them on regular Christmas and we couldn’t wait, Uncle Steve! We opened them already. Is why I’m sorry.”

It takes a few solid seconds for Steve to process what’s just happened; when he does he swoops Charlie into his lap and hugs him so tightly that the boy squeaks, then giggles. “Don’t worry about it, buddy,” he gruffs. And as he squeezes Charlie again he makes a mental note to thank Danny a hundred times over (and also to ask what the presents actually were, in case he’s ever expected to know).

“But you still need to open your presents!” Charlie exclaims, wriggling out of Steve’s arms and out of his lap. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, buddy, but I’m not sure if Danno and Gracie are busy.”

“Danno!” Charlie hollers, without moving from the spot. “Grace! Present time!”

It takes a few minutes for everybody to amble in and settle themselves, but soon they’re all assembled. Charlie makes Steve stay on the couch, and brings each box to him, one by one.

Everything’s lovely. There’s a shirt from Danny, some runner’s accessories from Grace, and a paper mache—thing?—from Charlie. Steve loves it all, of course, but nothing gets him all that emotional.

He’s nearly forgotten about his stocking when Grace helps her brother take it down from the mantle. Charlie scrambles over, plops it right in Steve’s lap.

Tears sting his eyes and nose, and he knows he’d be in trouble right now if he hadn’t gotten so much of it out of his system last night. As it is he still has to sniffle a bit.

Charlie headbutts his knee, a frown of concern on his face. “Are you sad again, Uncle Steve?”

“What? No, buddy, I’m happy!”

“He does that at least once every Christmas, with that stupid sock.” Danny sounds exasperated, though his expression is soft and fond.

But Charlie’s still frowning. Steve tugs him into his lap. “Listen, Charlie. You know— you know that my parents are gone?”

Charlie nods. The implication may be slightly off there, but he doesn’t really feel like explaining about Doris; he thinks that’s justified. “And I have a sister,” Steve continues, “and I love her, but she lives on the mainland. So you and Gracie and Danno— you really are my family. And I just feel really, really lucky that I have you guys. And when I look at all our stockings together, it’s— it’s just really special to me.” He laughs around the lump in his throat. “Does that make sense?”

Charlie hums in agreement, then scoots off Steve’s lap and settles instead in the crook of his arm.

Across the room, Danny huffs. “You gonna open it or stare at it all morning, babe?”

Steve sniffs again, then pulls a face at Danny and digs in.

As expected, the first thing to come out is a handful of York patties. Then a pack of niceish pens, socks with yellow labs on them, and yup, fancy bison jerky. Then the requisite unpersonalized Christmas chocolates; Steve knows for a fact that Danny buys a six pack each of caramel, marshmallow, truffle, and peanut butter Santas, puts one in each stocking, and keeps the extras for himself. Though something’s a bit different this year. Steve’s got two marshmallow and no peanut butter. Which doesn’t matter, at all; he just loves having enough of a Christmas routine that something like this even occurs to him.

But Charlie’s staring at the Santas, suddenly fidgeting.

“You wanna help me eat one, buddy?” Steve prompts, feeling that’s a pretty safe assumption.

But Charlie shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “I have a secret.”

“Okay. Is it a secret for me?”

Charlie nods, then looks across the room with probably the sternest expression Steve has ever seen on a kid’s face.

“Grace took your nutty butter Santa,” Charlie whispers, and Grace makes a noise of utter dismay.

“Charlie! I traded!”

“She said she was gonna and I told her no, but you don’t have a nutty butter Santa! So she did!”

Grace looks torn between true embarrassment and hysterical laughter.

“She took your nutty butter and gave you her ‘shmallow b’cause ‘shmallow is the baddest one!”

“Wow,” Danny grumbles. “I wish you would’ve told Santa you guys don’t like marshmallow. I don’t think he knew.”

“I love marshmallow,” Steve assures him.

“Mm. ‘cause you are one.”

Steve ruffles Charlie’s hair. “I don’t mind that your sister traded with me, buddy. I think that’s something that families do.”

Placated, Charlie accepts Steve’s offer of his caramel Santa. Steve himself nibbles on a peppermint patty to settle his stomach—which logically shouldn’t work, since it’s more sugar than mint, but works anyway. For a while they stay in the living room, not doing much of anything. Then eventually Charlie remembers about shape cookies, and Grace is dispatched to the kitchen to set out the necessarily supplies. Charlie tags along, leaving Danny to take the seat at Steve’s side.

Steve pulls him into a hug the moment he’s settled, squeezing so tightly Danny can’t raise his arms to hug back. “Thanks for gettin’ them something from me,” he whispers, just at Danny’s ear.

Danny worms one arm free, slap Steve’s shoulder. “You know I got your back, babe,” he says, which just makes Steve hug him harder.

The rest of the morning passes in a frenzy of cookie cutters and sprinkles. Grace makes a gorgeous array of ornament cookies and spends ten minutes taking the perfect shot of them for her Instagram; Charlie makes frosting-covered blobs. Danny makes gingerbread people. Steve makes four snowmen, which he decorates like the four of them; he even attempts a freehand snowdog Eddie, though this doesn’t come out much better than what Charlie makes.

Lunch, unintentionally, becomes broken cookies and leftover frosting. It’s not even 1300 yet when Charlie starts yawning with the inevitable sugar-and-excitement crash, and Danny laughs and musses up his son’s hair.

“I think this is the signal for the Christmas nap.”

Steve snorts. “The Christmas nap?”

“The Christmas nap. You gotta take a nap Christmas day; you should know that by now, honestly.”

“Right. The Christmas nap.”

Even though it’s been prompted by Charlie, Steve could honestly sleep now, too. Despite oversleeping—or maybe because of it—he’s been tired all morning. And, despite the presence of his family keeping the worst of the grief at bay, at some point he’s going to need to go sit with his sadness. Even for just a little while.

“Can you carry me upstairs, Danno?” Charlie says, and everybody laughs.

But Grace pushes back from the table first. “I can, booger. I’m going to take a Christmas nap, too.” And she hoists her little brother into her arms, and carries him out of the kitchen.

Left alone, Danny turns his attention to Steve. “You should rest too, babe.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I wasn’t gonna argue with that.”

“Wow. Look at you, lookin’ after yourself. You want me to come with you?”

“Are you gonna sleep?”

“Probably not.”

“After that whole thing about the Christmas nap?”

Danny grins. “An equally important tradition is eating all the cookies without judgement, while the rest of the family sleeps.”

“If you’re not gonna sleep, then you don’t need to come with me.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, just wake me up by three, or I’ll be up forever tonight.”

Danny waves his assent, and Steve gets up from the table, scratches Eddie’s back, and heads to Danny’s room.

At the sight of the bed he’s more tired than ever. He shuts the blinds as best as he can, then pulls back the messily-made up covers and crawls underneath. His face feels a bit hot. The sheets are lovely and cool against it, and Steve curls up on his side and closes his eyes.

*

Steve wakes to Danny’s hand on his arm, and a weight on his chest so heavy he thinks his heart might give out. The smell of blood and mountain air lingers sickeningly.

“Hey, easy, easy,” Danny mutters, squeezing gently. “You’re okay, you’re awake now. You with me?”

Too miserable to speak, Steve just nods.

“You want some water, or somethin’?”

Steve shakes his head.

Danny sighs, and sits on the edge of the mattress; with motions un-Danny-like in their smallness, he invites Steve into his arms.

Moving will hurt. But Steve doesn’t hesitate; just gets himself mostly upright then slumps against Danny’s chest. Tears soak through fabric. The nightmare—the memory—rolls back over him like a wave, so he clings to Danny and lets it come.

It sweeps him out; he goes without question. Sinks so far into grief he can barely glimpse the surface—but still he has something to anchor him. Beneath fabric, Steve feels skin. Beneath skin, muscle; beneath muscle, bone; and beneath that, Danny Williams.

Eventually the world settles back into place. Feeling light-headed, but himself again, Steve pulls away from Danny and wipes his nose with the collar of his t-shirt. “Did I,” he croaks, then tries again. “Was I makin’ noise, or—”

“Were you making noise?”

“You woke me up—”

“Yeah, it’s three. You said wake you up at three.” Danny smiles sadly. “Wish you’d been makin’ noise. Then I would’ve come sooner.”

Steve doesn’t reply, just scrubs away tears and tries to reign in his breathing. His skin feels too hot, insides too cold, and it all aches, dully.

“Kids are still out,” Danny says, pale eyes soft and sincere. “If you wanna lie down a lil’ more, I’ll stay.”

“I should prob’ly just go.”

“Go?”

“I don’t—” Steve begins, then has to stop and swallow. “Listen. This morning was great, Danno. I had a great time. And I kept it together. But I’m not gonna—I’m not gonna keep it together—”

Danny’s hand settles on his knee.

“Can’t keep it together much longer than I did already,” Steve whispers, hating the words but hating even more how weak his voice sounds, saying them. “I’ve only got, you know, a few hours at a time, man. Then it all comes back.”

Danny’s hand has become a fist, and is now bopping Steve’s knee lightly, thoughtfully; he lowers his face too, not forcing eye contact. “Sometimes you gotta go be sad alone. I get that. I do. I won’t stop you.”

“You won’t?”

“What am I gonna do, tie you down? I’d like to see me try.”

Steve smiles at that.

“Go home if you needa go home, babe. But if you wanna stay—”

Danny pauses, and takes a slow, steady breath. “Listen, you don’t owe us any happiness. You don’t. You can go be sad at home, or you can stay and be sad on the couch. Nobody’s gonna think less of you.”

“The kids don’t deserve that.”

“Deserve what? Seein’ you upset?”

“They already had to deal with me last night.”

Danny waves his hands, like he’s knocking away a fly. “Okay. Let’s come at this from a different angle. We’ll put on the sappiest Christmas movie we can think of and do some undercover crying.”

“Undercover crying?”

“Oh, shit, have you ever seen the Muppet Christmas Carol? The kids’ll think it’s for them, because, Muppets. But holy crap, is that thing ever a tearjerker.”

Worn down as he is, Steve can’t help but smile.

“Just one more thing. And—listen, let me finish it in one go, please. I got—a lotta guilt, ‘bout that month you were alone in Montana. No—let me finish, Steven. I know, you told me not to come. I know, you had shit to do. But I spent a month—I spent _Christmas_ — knowin’ that my _best friend_ was three thousand miles away, goin’ through some of the worst days of his life. So can you please— _please_ —let me take care of you a little?”

Steve responds by hugging him again.

Danny wasn’t kidding about the movie plan. Once the kids are up and looking for a Christmas activity, Danny gets them all in the living room and puts on the Muppet Christmas Carol. And yes, despite the presence of fluffy puppets, it’s _heartbreaking_. Steve curls up beside Danny on the couch and weeps slow, silent tears onto his shoulder; and Grace and Charlie, sprawled out on the floor, don’t seem to notice anyway.

The movie ends. Steve goes to the bathroom and washes his face, then just stands for a few minutes, letting the water flow over his fingers.

When he returns, there’s a board game on the floor. But Charlie doesn’t fuss when Steve says he’s not in the mood to play now, just ropes Danny into playing instead.

Steve doesn’t feel like sitting, either, though. So he gets Eddie’s leash on, not at all minding when Grace asks to join them.

For a while they stroll the neighborhood in comfortable silence. Then Grace starts talking about college; Steve does his best to listen, though the thought of Grace leaving hurts more than a bit.

”I’m worried about my mom,” Grace admits, at one point. “When Charlie’s not there, she won’t really have anyone.”

”I hear you,” Steve replies. “But she’ll be all right. They both will.”

”Oh, I’m not worried about Danno,” Grace laughs. “Not really. He’s got you. And— thank you for that. By the way. It’s a relief to know you’re watching out for him.”

”He watches out for me too, y’know.” 

Grace grins. “I know. Believe me, that’s a relief, too.”

Back at the house they find Charlie on another sugar high, green food-coloring stains on his mouth and fingers. Danny’s loading the dishwasher, wondering aloud if they should have leftovers or order pizza. And it’s all—it’s perfect, is what it is, and Steve lets himself sink into it. And thinks about how you can be unhappy, even deeply, and still be at peace.

“Pizza or lasagna?” Danny demands, as Steve approaches.

“Who says I’m staying for dinner?”

“Are we gonna have this conversation again?”

“No,” Steve replies, smiling a little. “But to answer your question, I would like salad.”

“Pizza it is, then.”

“Excuse me? Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you. The pizza place has salads.” Danny brushes past him to wipe his hands with the towel hanging on the oven. “What kind of pizza you want for when you give in and eat pizza anyway?”

Steve raises an eyebrow in Danny’s direction. “I don’t have to stay, you know.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

“Why, because I’m activating your nurturing instincts now?”

“That’s part of it.”

“Well, what’s the other part.”

“The other part,” Danny says, curtly, “is that you are going to help me take the decorations down tomorrow.”

“Oh, am I?”

Danny’s response is a goofy smile, that slowly widens until it envelopes his face: one of those not-so-frequent golden smiles of his, that shows every line around his eyes and mouth.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he huffs. “I guess that’s only fair. Since it’s my fault they’re still up this late.”

”Mm,” Danny hums. “And don’t you forget it.”

Steve won’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Just fucking cannot get enough of the Williams crew loving and supporting their brother/uncle.
> 
> Also: somebody on tumblr who was not me noticed that the coat Steve wears at the end of 9x11 seems to be Joe's. I was not the one to notice it, but now I can't find that post again... so anyway, credit to whoever deserves it for the concept of Steve keeping Joe's coat :)


End file.
